I place an ellipsis on the year 1901.
Not a full stop — an ellipsis, because history does not end. But the twentieth century is quite another labour. Two World Wars, the Revolution, Collectivization, the Holodomor, the Occupation, the Soviet decades, Independence — each of these themes calls not for a paragraph but for a separate study of many years. There it is no longer one register per century, but hundreds of documents per decade. There are still living witnesses, living memories, living emotions. And however much you gather — you will not piece together a full picture, because every episode has to be viewed through the prism of years, not of centuries.
And so — an ellipsis. Not a refusal, but an honest acknowledgement of limits.
At least in my time — we were not taught at school the history of our small homeland. We did not know who founded our village, when the church was built, across which field ran the road along which salt was carried from the Dniester. We walked past stone houses without realizing they were the remains of 17th-century fortifications. We called the river by the wrong name and did not know how many times the village had burned. Yet the Hundred Years' War between France and England I remember from school — though I have never been to either country.
This is not a fault — it is a consequence. The consequence of centuries in which our history was written by others, in other languages, for other purposes. Polish lustrations, Ottoman registers, Russian revisions — all of them recorded our villages as lines in other people's ledgers. And we were not allowed to keep a tradition of writing our own.
And yet — this history exists. It lies in the archives of Warsaw, Kraków, Vienna, Kyiv, Vinnytsia. In old printed books, in the margins of parish registers, in interrogation records and the income-and-expense books of innkeepers. One only needs to know where to look — and to have the patience to read.
Miastkivka was founded as a fighting town. A fortress at Kamionobrod that blocked the Tatar raid-routes and guarded the crossing of the Markivka. Zelenskyi's Cossack sotnia, the rampart-castle, «to hold the watch in the field and along the roads». A small town where people settled not for a quiet life, but to hold the frontier.
Four hundred years on — nothing has changed. Horodkivka still holds the frontier. As does all of Ukraine.
Perhaps one day Horodkivka will take back its true name — Miastkivka. The name under which it existed for three hundred years, until yet another chancery rewrote it in its own fashion.
Perhaps we will know the exact age of our settlement and celebrate its birthday — as do towns that honour their memory.
Perhaps we will preserve the stone house, the Church of the Annunciation and the other monuments — and pass them on to those who come next.
Or perhaps — none of this will come to pass.
But at least now there is somewhere to learn about it.
I thank everyone who has read this far. The study is not yet finished — it probably never will be. If you have corrections, remarks, documents, or simply memories — please write:
«Horodkivka. Historical Heritage» — Facebook group
[email protected] — but Facebook is easier
Only please do not expect a quick reply. This is an individual project, and everything takes time. But every message will be read.
S. D.